


Stripped Bare

by TheCursedChild



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1860366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCursedChild/pseuds/TheCursedChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A single moment undoes everything Team Gibbs has done to lead Ziva away from the path of a heartless killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stripped Bare

Eight years. That’s how long it had taken the combined efforts of Team Gibbs to change Ziva. Eight years, hundreds of cases and as many sleepless nights to find her a new way of life.

One man. That’s how many people it takes  to strip her back to her most basic instincts. One man, one bullet and one emotion.

The unbearable pain that hits her as she finds her father on the ground, dead, is unreal. It overtakes her. An animalistic cry of anguish tears from her throat at the sight of his blood.

Skills and memories from what seem to be a lifetime ago return without her consent. Slowly they fight their way back into her mind from where she buried them one by one. They gather behind her eyes, watch the world she sees.  

Patiently, they assess the situation, and wait. The search is too long, but they are closing in. They simply observe.

Berlin beats them back down. The city ignites feelings that surpass their combined strength, and when Tony takes her hand back home, it’s almost as if nothing ever changed.

That’s when a car crashes into her side of the vehicle. Sounds deafen her, strip her of her senses and she loses consciousness for a terrifying moment.

That moment is when they attack, memories of faceless men and woman all around her as she fights with deadly precision. Targets flash around her, seconds before she extinguishes thelight in their eyes. Months of training and pain and death compressed into a single second.

She opens her eyes.

The blurred vision disappoints her, but she does not need to see his face to know who he is. Her body is paralised, weak and frail, as he retrieves the diamonds and walks away. Another moment passes, and she still can’t move.

She can’t let him get away, not again.

She willingly lets them in. Instincts from years ago, suppressed and unused, return to her. Her body reaches for her gun without conscious thought. Her pain is gone, her thoughts getting clearer.

It is mindlessly that she points the gun and fires. She knows she has missed the moment her clip empties. The driver is probably down one functional arm though, so she feels satisfied enough for the moment.

The hospital is a cage, one that she paces through as quickly as possible. When the agents all leave, she convinces Tony to sign out AMA, not that she needs to say much to do so.

The man who held her hand, the one she loved not 24 hours ago, is now a faceless stranger. Only her target burns clearly on her eyelids.

She throws away the confining sling, unwilling to show her enemies that she is wounded. There are no allies left, she has to do this alone. All of them just stand in the way, objects to tear through without hesitation. His voice taunts her, calls for her to find him, mocks her.

She will find him, knows there is no other option left. He can’t hide now, let alone forever.

Her shoulder is immobile, dangerously so. She can’t move it, doubles over in pain when she tries. It is an illusion, she remembers. Her mentors taught her to resist pain, keep quiet and move through it.

She does.

Her movements are quick and exact. She moves as little as possible, lets her mind do the work. She focuses only on the bag in front of her and lashes out with her bruising fists. That tiny point she hits every time consumes her world, it is the only thing that matters.

The pain is gone, but she doesn’t smile in victory. She just draws her knife from its holster on her ankle and moves. Elegant like a panther in the night, as beautiful and invisible. The blade feels right in her hand, balanced and sharp.

Its wielder is blank, feels the fire of revenge burning. There is nothing else but him to cut through.

Soundlessly, she sits at her desk, watches the men solve the puzzle, and disappears once they move out off sight.

She hasn’t forgotten her training, waits and watches, knows she has time to spare. The fire she creates fascinates her, makes her see what is left inside of her. Moving on, she enters the hide-out of her target.

His voice makes her stop momentarily. She did find him, is better than he’ll ever be. There is no plan or tactic when she attacks him, only instinct.

She doesn’t feel the pain he inflicts, only notices her body give in before pushing back. Harder and harder she fights, until he goes down.

She doesn’t need to see the body to know it is done. The fire inside her dies down abruptly, announcing the end of her mission. She feels empty, but it doesn’t bother her. She walked around like this for years before they found and changed her. It is as comforting as it is terrifying to feel nothing.

Below, they look at her with fear, and she can’t care. They are not important. They are people in a crowd, potential targets at best.

She is no longer weak and frail, not soft and delicate like she was in their presence.

She is cold and silent, instinctive and deadly. She was raised to be this, and until she gets a new target, emptiness will be all there is, maybe all there ever will be.

She is no longer a leashed dog. She is free for the first time in her life, not bound to her father or in dept to Gibbs. She doen’t need to repent for her brother or their fallen agent, she has no one. She doesn’t belong with them, can’t fit in no matter how hard she tries. Doesn’t no why she should be trying. After all, she is loyal to herself and nobody else.

And she is Israeli, not American. Her place is not here, and she was foolish to believe she could escape the war back home. Doesn’t remember why she wanted to, can’t recall what longing for something is like.

It takes them eight years to built her masks and induce feelings. Eight years, hundreds of cases and as many sleepless nights to find her a new way of life, one she doesn’t understand.

It takes one man to strip her back to her most basic instincts, to the only thing she knows how to be.

She is just the sharp end of the spear.


End file.
